Marks of her People
by EarthBorn93
Summary: The day she received her Vallaslin.


**Marks of her people**

 **Ferelden, 9:26 Dragon**

It was a very early morning, with the sun not having yet fully risen above the treetops. The summer air, while not exactly cold, was certainly on the chilly side with a morning mist hanging in the air adding an extra layer of cold clamminess. Keeper Marethari emerged from her Aravel and made her way to another Aravel on the other side of the clearing where the clan had camped. "Ashalle, Merrill!" Keeper Marethari called out to the two women standing near the Aravel in question, keeping her voice low as to not wake anyone up unnecessarily. "It is time" she said to them, and the two nodded and made their way to a pond a quick walking distance away from the camp.

Qwerai was sitting on her knees in front of the pond, her arms neatly folded on her lap. In her hands she was holding a scroll that contained the oath of the Dales, she had been reading the scroll over and over again during the night. She had been there for the whole night in serene contemplation as she had been instructed to do. For two days she had also been fasting, accepting only regularly offered drinks of water. Around her were arranged the statues of the gods and symbols depicting the way of the Three Trees to give her inspiration during her meditation. Even the statue of Fen'harel was among them, purposefully turned away from her and the camp as was custom. Qwerai was sixteen years of age, and this day was momentous occasion for her, for today was the day she was finally to become an adult.

Today was the day she was to receive her Vallaslin.

Merrill was here in her capacity as the keeper's first, to attend that the proper rites and traditions were followed as Qwerai made ready to receive her Vallaslin. Merrill was always a person that was easily awkward with social circumstances, easily confused and with a tendency to babble when she was nervous. Yet today she was very different in her demeanor. Today she had a cool air of formality about her, although not in an unkind way, brought about by a practiced manner of bringing solemnity to an event, honed through several prior occasions. Had she not known her for years Qwerai could have sworn that Merrill had transformed into a complete stranger that had nothing in common with the endearingly loose minded elf-woman that Qwerai knew as a friend. Today, perhaps for the first time, Qwerai could see why Merrill might make a good keeper one day, despite Merrill's insistence otherwise.

Ashalle on the other hand was not technically supposed be here at all. Traditionally when a Da'len came of age, it was the role of the mother or father as appropriate to aid their child to make ready to receive their Vallaslin. As it was Qwerai had lost her parents long ago. Being the closest thing to a mother Qwerai had ever known, as well as a friend of her true mother, Ashalle had been permitted to assume the place of Qwerai's mother in the ceremony. Qwerai had often wondered if she should feel bad for not having her parents around. That was what most people seemed to assume. But her parents had not been in her life long enough for her to have a recollection of them, so how was she to miss something she could not remember having or wanting? The clan had always been her family, the only one she felt she needed. She still felt many things about her parents: Wonder, curiosity, affection dulled by time, distance and lack of knowing. But sorrow? No, sorrow had never been a feeling she associated with her parents, and she could not quite get why other people seemed to think she might. She had asked before about what had happened to her parents but there she had always hit a wall of gentle redirection, sad smiles and a change in subject. One of these days she would know the truth, when she was able to convince one of the elders she was ready to know.

Ashalle helped Qwerai to wash herself one last time, and dressed her in a simple, long gown of purest white. Ashalle weaved simple white forest flowers into Qwerai's hair, circling her head, almost like a crown. "You look beautiful." Ashalle commented when they were complete, smiling warmly "I can't express how proud I am of you today, you've come so far."

"Thank you." Qwerai replied, giving a shy smile. She was definitely not used to being praised in such a way.

"Nervous?" Ashalle asked after noting Qwerai's manner.

"Uh… a little. But I'll be alright." Qwerai admitted, trying to keep herself from fidgeting.

"Well, you certainly have nothing to be concerned about. All of us go through with this sooner or later. We wouldn't have asked this of you if we did not think you were ready. And you **are** ready." Ashalle said, taking a hold of Qwerai's shoulder reassuringly.

"I would say that she's been ready for some time now, all of this is just making it official." Merrill commented from where she was standing. "Now, if you are finished preparing I think we should get thin underway. The Keeper will be waiting for us."

The Keeper was waiting for them at the clearing at the center of the Dalish camp, the Aravels and tents of the clan around them.

"Who comes before the clan and our gods this dawn?" Marethari asked of the Trio as they stopped before her.

"Qwerai, who was born to the clan of Mahariel and raised in clan of Sabrae comes here to beg for the favor of the clan and our gods. She desires to bear the marks of our creators and declare herself as one of the people." Ashalle responded.

"Has she attended to the rites and ceremonies of our people as tradition demands, as witnessed by the first of the clan?" Marethari asked.

"She has, Keeper." Merrill replied.

"And has she felled a prey worthy of her new status, slain and honored according to our traditions and the way of the three trees?" Marethari asked next.

"She has." Ashalle replied to the Keepers question. Qwerai remembered that well, how she had hunted an especially cunning hart through the forest for four days straight in what had been one of the most difficult pursuits she had had in her life thus far. Twice she had tried failed to kill the creature, and more than once she had thought she had lost the trail for good, only to stumble upon fresh tracks some time later. The sense of relief and fulfillment when she had finally felled the creature with a single arrow through the eye had been overwhelming. As soon as she had attended to her kill according to the rites of Andruil, other hunters of her clan had appeared as if they had materialized from thin air, although Qwerai had not seen or heard them for the entirety of her hunt until that very moment. They had helped her bring back the carcass of the hart. It was to be the centerpiece of the feast planned for todays celebrations.

Nodding, the keeper asked, next question of the ceremony: "Qwerai of the clans of Mahariel and Sabrae, I ask you now are you willing to accept the marks of our creators, to declare yourself as one of the People and to accept the responsibilities of adulthood, in full knowledge of the gravity of those responsibilities? Know that there is no shame in refusing, for adulthood comes to each of us, when we are ready, and no sooner."

"I am aware of the responsibilities of adulthood, and I am willing to accept them. I wish to declare myself as one of the People." Qwrai said as she had been taught to do, saying the words without a hint of hesitation.

"Recite our oath Da'len." The keeper commanded.

Closing her eyes, Qwerai began to recite the oath of the Dales as the words came into her mind: "We are the Dalish, the keepers of the lost lore, the walkers of the lonely path. We are the last Elvhenan, and never again shall we submit."

"And never again shall we submit." repeated the other three women.

"Come with me." The keeper told her, and she did, while Ashalle and Merrill stayed behind.

The keeper's tent was warm in a comfortable way and smelled of various herbs. The keeper motioned for her to sit, and Qwerai settled on the ground in front of a low wooden table. Before her were arranged several pieces of cloth, upon which were several different designs.

"Before you are the marks of the creators that you might carry." The keeper said "So, Da'len, which one of the designs would you have inscribed upon your skin. Which creator's banner will you bear for the remainder of your days?" Marethari asked.

After several moments of consideration Qwerai pointed to one of the designs: "This one."

The keeper took the design she had pointed to into her hands, studying her choice: "Ah, Ghilan'nain. And why this one, If I might ask?"

The keeper's question caught Qwerai off her guard. No one had told her that the keeper might ask such a question. She had not had any specific reason in mind when she had made her choice. She had simply liked how that particular design looked. But it was not as if she could simply blurt that out as her reason could she? Qwerai stammered, searching her mind for some satisfactory answer.

After a few tense moments the keeper broke out in laughter: "Do not be concerned Da'len, you're not in trouble, and there is no wrong answer you could give. Some of us have specific reasons for choosing as we do, and if you did, then I would gladly have heard it. But many of us simply choose the design we like, as you have. I should know, I did so too in my time."

"Truly, keeper?" Qwerai asked in disbelief. The keeper she knew was always wise and purposeful, making her decisions after careful consideration. It was not like her to make a decision… just because.

"Yes, truly," the keeper said, still smiling "and no one ever believes me when I tell them the story either. If you have made your decision on the same premises, then so be it."

Then the keeper's expression became serious once again. Carefully, reverently, she folded the other designs on display, folding them neatly into a wooden chest nearby. Next the keeper lay on the table one by one a small knife, a glass flask of ink and a set of hollow needles made of bone. The keeper passed her hand over the flask of ink, and Qwerai thought she spied a glimmer of bluish light on the keepers palm for the briefest of moments. Next the keeper held up the knife. "Give me your hand" The keeper told her.

Qwerai extended her arm over the table, and the Keeper took a gentle hold of the wrist of the offered and carefully pierced Qwerai's thumb. Qwerai winced as the metal tip cut into her flesh, but remained silent despite the pain. The Keeper gave Qwerai's thumb a small squeeze, and a single drop of blood feel into the flask of ink. The ink flashed with a bright blue light, illuminating the tent for one second… two, then the light dimmed and faded away. Then Marethari dipped the cloth Qwerai had chosen in a bowl of water, then laid it across Qwerai's face. A sweet fragrance filled Qwerai's nostrils and almost instantly she felt calmer and strangely enough somehow detached from her own body.

"Now I need you to remain calm and try not to move around too much. This can only be done once, so it must be done right." She heard the Keeper say before she began her work.

The Keeper's needle descended on Qwerai's skin over and over again, hundreds of tiny jabs eventually running into thousands. Each small sting was uncomfortable and in addition to the usual pain there was an unnatural ripple of coldness that spread outward from each fresh piercing before fading away. The sweet smelling substance was helping a great deal, dampening the sensations, but it could not remove the pain entirely. With the cloth over her face and her eyes closed she could not see, but she could hear the soft clicks each time the Keeper needed more ink for her needle. There were several other pauses as the Keeper stopped to remove excess ink or to change the needle she had been using for one reason or another. Each time before Marethari resumed her work Qwerai could feel the Keepers fingers trace the outlines of her head, making sure the cloth over her face had not moved from its place.

Throughout all of this Qwerai remained completely silent, her expression neutral and unmoving. The only sign of her discomfort was shown in her hands. Her fists were clenched, her knuckles white from the pressure, her nails digging into her palms. With everything else that was going on Qwerai did not even notice what her hands were doing. The Keeper did not notice this either or she did not mind, for she did not comment on this in any way.

The Keepers work went on for a very long time, going from Qwerai's forehead and finally down the bridge of her nose. Finally Marethari paused in her work for the last time, slowly peeling off the cloth on Qwerai's face. Qwerai felt the Keeper wash her face with handfuls of water, the liquid feeling cold against her raw skin. Qwerai finally opened her eyes seeing the Keeper hand her a mirror, giving her a first look on the markings now marking her face. Qwerai's eyes widened slightly as she saw the intricate design now decorating her forehead and the bridge of her nose. Slowly Qwerai raised her hand to touch her markings, quickly withdrawing her fingers as she felt how sensitive her marked skin now was.

"That feeling will pass in time. A day, maybe two I would wager." The keeper said with a voice full of understanding, clearly knowing what Qwerai was feeling.

"It looks so strange…" Qwerai commented quietly, continuing to study her Vallaslin in awe.

The Keeper smiled. "Give it month. You might not even remember what your face looked like before." she said. "We should go now, the rest of the clan will be waiting for us, and of you especially" she continued.

And true enough, as Qwerai stepped outside the keeper's tent, feeling the soft, light morning winds now warmed by the morning sun cool against her marked skin, the clan was waiting. They met her with cheers and congratulations, causing a smile to creep into her lips as well. They were all there, Merrill, Tamlen, Fenarel, all her other friends. Of her friends only Merrill and Fenarel carried Vallaslin as of yet, the others were still waiting for their turn, promising future celebrations yet to come. It was then that Ashalle came to the forefront of the meeting crowd, giving Qwerai a hug, which she warmly returned.

Ashalle took Qwerai's hands into hers, smiling from ear to ear. "I remember the day your mother gave birth to you. I remember you when you were still a little girl. So far have you come…" Ashalle happened to glance down, then frowned as she saw something. "Qwerai… your hands…" she said with concern in her voice.

Qwerai also looked down in surprise as she saw the marks her fingernails had left on her palms. "Oh… where did those come from? I didn't even notice…" Qwerai said, confused. Then she shook her head, giving an amused chuckle: "It's nothing, a scratch. I didn't even notice it before you pointed it out." "Now I think we have a celebration to get to, no?" Qwerai then asked with a grin. Ashalle smiled at that, nodding, clearly pleased that Qwerai was all right: "You're right, we do. This is your day, and we should go ahead and celebrate it."

And so the clan went on to start the celebrations of that day…


End file.
